Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 56
Five Days, Eleven Hours, Twenty-Three Minutes
At the sound of his voice, Dr. Nina Welles slowly opened her eyes. She had grown very tired in the past ten minutes, and she guessed that her body was succumbing to the effects of temporal contamination. Of course, she had seen its effects on countless others before her, but, for the first time, she was feeling what those ravaged few felt. The fatigue, the heat, the cold, and the pain. She wasn't quite certain of whether or not Frank Parker's voice. She wondered if it could've been a sickness-induced side effect, but, then, she heard it again.
"Stay with us, Nina."
Her vision adjusting to the light, she blinked several times. She saw an orange blob in her field of vision. Closing her eyes hard, she rolled her eyeballs around – left, right, up, down – and then opened them again. There, leaning over her, was the chrononaut.
"Hello, Frank," she mumbled weakly.
"Right back at you, doctor."
She cleared her throat, and, to her surprise, she realized she was smiling. "Isn't this a bit ironic?" she asked. "Normally, I'm the one up there, and others are down here."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm not the first person to say that life is full of little ironies, am I?"
"No," she tried. "You're not wrong."
"You relax, doctor," he instructed her.
"Where am I?"
"Don't tell me that your memory is going, too?"
She laughed, but the minor convulsions of happiness hurt too much.
"We're still at the Pentagon," he said. "You fainted in the Catacombs, and, lucky for you, the chief of security here didn't take that as an offensive posture."
"Was that the guy with the gun?"
"Yes," he told her. "He was one of the good guys."
"Oh, thank goodness."
"He told you to stop, and I think you took him a bit too literally." An orderly brushed past him, marching to the nearest cabinet to retrieve an empty, sterilized syringe. "Now, the doctor here is going to administer a shot of Chroniticin. You're going to feel better in no time."
Confused, she shook her head. Then, she realized that he must've learned about the suit.
"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he asked.
"About what?" she tried.
"About what happened to the suit when we were in the elevator? About short-circuiting the rebreather?"
Her vision fluttered again, growing less visible, and she closed her eyes once more, settling on leaving them that way until she knew she was on the road to recovery.
"I'm sorry, Frank."
"I didn't ask you for an apology, Nina. I asked for the reason why didn't you tell me the truth?"
"I didn't want you to worry about me," she explained softly. "I don't like it ... when anyone worries about me. Call it ... a fault, if you must ... but it's who I am."
"Here's a little news flash, in case it escaped you, doctor: I've been worrying about every one of us since I landed in this parallel timeline. If you haven't heard, it's what I do. It's my job."
"No," she replied weakly. "That isn't your job, Frank."
"Then what is it my job to do?"
"Saving the world," she told him. "That's your job."
"Last time I looked, you were one part of this world, Nina."
"Yes, one part," she offered convincingly, "a very small part."
"Nina," he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "there is no person I've ever crossed paths with whom I've ever considered small or insignificant. BackStepping doesn't work that way. We're all important ... each and every one of us ... and, in case we don't cross paths any more in this timeline, I want you to accept that truth for what it is."
She thought about debating the merits of the perspective with him, but, given her condition, she decided she had better refrain.
"I'm sorry, Frank."
"Stop apologizing, doctor."
"I'm ... well ... forget it, then."
"That's better."
He stood beside her bed, and he placed one gloved hand over hers. She gripped his fingers with as much strength as she could muster.
"I certainly hope you and I cross paths in my own world," he told her finally, and then he left her to sleep. "You're a very strong woman, and I'd love to work with you again."
Smiling, Ebdon Finkle sat in a nearby chair. He watched the scene with some unusual measure of delight.
"What's the smirk on your face, Ebdon?"
He held his arms wide. "Can't a man smile?"
"Only when it doesn't mean what I think it means."
"Take it however you like."
Pointing, Parker ordered, "You stay here and take good care of her, do you hear me, recruit?"
"Are you sure that you don't want me to come with you?"
"No." The entire mission was a greater risk that Parker, Talmadge, or anyone had possibly imagined it would be. When Finkle had been ordered up as part of the team, Parker hadn't known what he knew now. The circumstances had changed – dramatically – and he wouldn't put any more people at risk ... not knowing what he knew. "Taking care of her is your new mission, Ebdon. You're more than capable ... and I wouldn't trust it to any other man I've met 'round here."
Reaching out from the chair, Finkle grasped the man's extended hand and shook it warmly.
"I hear you, Frank ... and good luck."
"Thanks."
Behind Parker, the Mallathorn waited. It floated in air – did the thing never grow weary of that stance? – and the chrononaut motioned for the being to lower to the floor. It followed his request.
"You're coming with me," the man said.
"Where are we going, Frank?"
"We're going to have more than a few kind words with the man sent to kill us."
END of Chapter 56
